This story is about me. Only me. It’s about my ego and insecurities and fears and needs.
I typically write what I think might be useful for others to know and understand, but this is different. It’s more like a diary entry. A confessional. A cry of frustration.
It’s the sort of thing I would address to a wife or partner or trusted companion — if I had a woman in that role. It’s my half of a conversation which I would need to have with someone who loved me and believed in me and was permanently a part of my life.
So this probably isn’t for you.
I’m struggling right now. In many ways, things are the best in my life that they’ve been for at least 20 years. I have stability and purpose again. I know where I want to go. I’m more clear about my values and my priorities than I’ve ever been in my life.
But I’m struggling with the gap between how things ought to be and the reality I see in front of me. And that gap terrifies me — because nobody lives forever.

What’s at the root of objections to real freedom? Paternalism
As you grow, learn to let go of things that no longer serve you
Goodbye, Dagny (2004-2019)
Identity politics is the cancer behind Elizabeth Warren’s lie about ancestry
If we’re seduced by our desires, we often follow devil in disguise
In bad times, human nature starts looking for some new scapegoats
If ‘bigots’ can lose their rights, will your rights be next to go?
If you allow anything to be priority over love and beauty, you’re a fool